The Second Encounter
by Draco Is My Life
Summary: When Draco and Dedra are summoned by the Dark Lord a second time, they can only expect the worst. The second encounter can only be harder than the first.
1. Chapter 1 The Summoning

Draco was walking through the Forbidden Forest, along the edge as to keep away from all the really nasty creature within. His relationship with Dedra was less than sturdy and he didn't know what to say or do anymore. It seemed like every time he was around her that his presence disgusted her, but didn't know why. He quite understood the horrors she faced while under Voldemort's foot, but she seeming distaste for him, he did not.

So, here Draco was, cursing rather loudly at a tree root that tripped him up while he walked mindlessly. Finally aware of his surroundings, he found himself a tad deeper in the Forest than he meant to be. Deciding this tree was as good as any other to sit beneath, he plopped beside the massive root that tripped him. Giving a faint chuckle, he realized that any time he and Dedra fought, he was here in the place they first meet.

But his reminiscing was cut short by the vague burning on his forearm. Roughly tugging up the sleeve of his cloak, he gazed at the slightly glowing Death Mark upon his arm. While it wasn't enough to hurt really, he was certainly enough to not let him forget about it.

How was he going to get to the Dark Lord? Apparating off Hogwarts grounds was out of the question; wards prevented that, so Draco was left with a precious few options. Digging around in his pockets, he found a Portkey that would transport him directly to Malfoy Manor. Perfect! He would Portkey home, then Apparate to where ever the Dark Lord was. Gripping the Portkey, a rust Knut, he muttered the activation word and closed his eyes as the hook grabbed his navel and transported him to Malfoy Manor.

Briefly debating whether or not to inform his parents of his arrival and soon departure, he chose against it. They didn't need to know. Closing his eyes again, he focused on the image of the Dark Lord, since he didn't know where he was going. Only Death Eaters could Apparate directly to him, if they focused on him when doing so. When he opened his eyes again, he found himself in a entirely concrete place, a cold damp environment, directly before the Dark Lord. Falling to one knee, he bowed his head in acknowledgement, "My lord…" murmured.

Lord Voldemort picked this place simply because his Manor was a too busy for such things. This secret place appealed to him greatly, the surroundings fitting his mood. Patiently he waited for the two summoned Death Eaters to arrive, and when the first one did, he waited for the boy to kiss the hem of his robes and stand before talking. "Mr. Malfoy, how prompt you are. Now, we shall wait for the other to arrive, before we continue." The other did not know how to Apparate yet as she was 1-2 years younger than Mr. Malfoy, so he tolerated her slow arrival.

When Dedra entered the dank concrete place, he was slightly surprised to see Draco standing there in waiting. But, she did not forget her greeting, going to her knees before the Dark Lord, kissing the hem of his robes in greeting. Rising slowly, she kept her head lowered, fearful of him. Wanting to get as far away from him as possible, she backed up until she was against the wall and, consequently, far away from Draco.

"Miss Sinnott," the Dark Lord greeted her promptly, starting to near her. Lifting one hand and jerking down the hood of her cloak, he amused him to see her flinch and cower. "I can't say you're going to enjoy this particular meet," he started, whispering solely to her, but whether or not Draco heard or not was irrelevant and trivial. Sliding his hand into once side of the cloak, he flipped it back behind her shoulders, revealing half of her clothing beneath. Running his hand casually over her chest and then down her stomach, he grinned devilishly before quickly turning around and regarding Draco questioningly. If he didn't know the question, it didn't matter.

Draco's jaw clenched tightly as the Dark Lord walked up to her, touching her. What hurt worse was watching her reaction, the whimper she almost gave. He did hear the Dark Lord's words and he wanted to stop him, but couldn't. Voldemort was closer, could harm her if he made a move. Instead, his hands became fist at his sides as he stood there waiting for the Dark Lord to address him. When he did turn around to face Draco, he looked down to where the hands laid on Dedra. Why had he chosen there? An idea occurred in his mind, a horrible one and his face snapped up to look into the Dark Lord's. "My lord?" he questioned softly.

"I'm assuming you don't understand, young Malfoy, do you?" he inquired, raising a brow and eyeing Draco with a mixture of question and maliciousness. Voldemort still did not move away from Dedra, though he was no longer touching her. "Go ahead, Draco, ask your questions freely. They will be answered. But be forewarned, tones will matter."

Continuing to tremble and shiver behind Voldemort, Dedra remained slouching and cowering, her head lowered almost to where her chin was touching her chest. Gaining a smidge of nerve, she lifted her eyes and looked over to Draco, wondering what he would ask. Taking a careful, quiet step back, she crossed her arms over her chest, and then moved them down over her middle, looking to Voldemort's back cautiously.

He asked his question while looking into her eyes before turning back to him. Draco wondered if requests counted as questions, "Could you allow her to stand beside me sir, she looks cold." Pausing in consideration of his tone and how to phrase what he wanted to ask, "Why were we both summoned, my lord? Why do you need us?" Breaking for a moment he looked back at her, smiling encouragingly.

"She's no colder than you or I," Voldemort retorted quickly, shrugging his shoulders and considering that request denied and dismissed. "It is no factor whether or not you are needed, you were wanted," the Dark Lord began, taking a step backwards towards Dedra as he sensed she had done. "You will see as much in due time. Are there any other questions?"

"Why do you want her here? Surely I could fulfill whatever want you have?" Draco asked boldly, yet in a decidedly respectful tone. Remembering how the Dark Lord had touched her, he took a moment to calm himself before asking him, "And why did you touch her stomach like that? Did you mean something by it?" His voice a touch of anger in it, but not enough to make the Dark Lord upset, he hoped.

"Perhaps blondes are brighter than given credit for, eh, Malfoy?" Voldemort rotated around once again, but this time on his left heel, looking to Dedra once again intimidating. "Indeed. It wasn't idle." Voldemort extended his hand once more, running it down her shoulder, arm, and over her stomach again. "Why do you think that is, Draco? Hmm? Offer a guess? Ask another question?"

I'm much smarter than you think... Draco thought while watching in disgust as Lord Voldemort felt up his girlfriend. Watching him again, Draco wondered why he would such a thing, "From the touches, one would think you're attracted to her, which I cannot say I disagree. But that wouldn't be it, would it?" Suddenly Draco was reminded of this girl in Ravenclaw, a seventh year who's name he'd never taken the time to memorize. He remembered people fawning over her stomach, touching it, and cooing ridiculously. But, she was... "No... she isn't...." His grey eyes dashing up to Lord Voldemort's questioningly.

"Isn't what?" he pressed, trying to get Draco to say it. Of course, Voldemort wasn't just doing this to perhaps save Dedra telling him, there was a reason for it. "Where as your first assumption might correct, it wouldn't at all be the sole reason. Come now, Draco... " Becoming impatient, Voldemort grabbed her by the back of her cloak and drug her up against the wall, separating her cloak as he'd done before, only lifting up some of her black shirt to reveal her stomach, which didn't exactly look like it had a month before Draco'd been assigned his task to become a Death Eater, though it wasn't obscenely obviously.

Gasping and going to curl up in a ball when Voldemort first reached for her, she didn't resist his grip at all and when exactly where he led her. Instinctively going to cover her stomach when he lifted up her shirt, she didn't, wishing for him to let her go so she could run away, or at least curl up away from him. He repulsed and frightened her, and she didn't want to be anywhere near him.

Taking a couple steps forward when the Dark Lord slammed her against the wall, "Please....don't hurt her!" Draco practically shouted in fear for her. When she recoiling and flinched so, he worried for her safety more. As he reached down, his silver eyes followed the movement, his body wanting to jump and rip that hand away from her. Watching intently as the black shirt was lifted and the smooth skin was exposed, he noticed the slightly rounded look of her stomach. "She is then...she's pregnant...." The thought shocked him and the surprise on his face showed. "Is it.... is the child...mine?" He questioned both the Dark Lord and Dedra.

Voldemort thought about it for a moment. Were he to lie and tell Draco it wasn't, it'd be even worse. What a splendid idea! However, if he got the urge to hurt Dedra during this little event, it would be much worse if he knew she child she bore was his own. Decisions! Oh's well, he would tell the truth. "Indeed, young Master Malfoy, 'tis. What do you make of it?"

Draco almost felt dizzy for a second.... Dedra was having his baby and he was going to be a father...oh Merlin.... Would he be ready for such things? Putting his hand up to his face, he looked down, he muttered, "Oh Merlin...oh Merlin..." How did this happen? Well, he knew about the birds of the bees of course, but when. The last time they made love was at the last summons...shit! With a startling realization, he suddenly remembered that he hadn't used a contraceptive spell! But, that was then and having the baby was later, he needed to focus on the now. Looking up, he looked past the Dark Lord to Dedra, just now smiling warmly, "I think...that...it's wonderful..." he stated, finding no other words for how he felt.

"That's splendid. And now you're not going to find this so splendid." Moving over to the young Death Eater, he glared intensely at him, grabbing either of his wrists and dragging over to where Dedra was, slamming him against the wall. Whipping his wand in Draco's direction sending a simple spell, he smirked as two snakes shot out of his wand and immediately attacked Draco's ankles, constricting around them and binding them. They followed suit with his ankles, and soon two more snakes appeared from out of no where and constricted around Dedra's ankles and wrists as well.


	2. Chapter 2 The Pain Starts

Momentarily stunned as his body was slammed hard against the concrete type wall, Draco coughed as the wind was knocked out of him. Coughing a bit, he looked over to Dedra for a minute before the snakes came wrapping around him. His eyes whipped down then up as they did so. Looking back to her again, he stared as more snakes did the same to her. Finally, his eyes went back to the Dark Lord.

Voldemort picked up Dedra, one arm supporting her back while the other held her legs; he then brought her over to the black leather chair and setting her down gently. Looking back at Draco, he retrieved a knife that immediately began burning red hot. Walking over to him, he pulled back his hood, placing the hot metal to his cheek.

While Draco appreciate the gentleness that Lord Voldemort gave to his pregnant girlfriend he was suddenly worried about himself. It seemed the Dark Lord didn't want to harm her, at least not right now. He thanked whatever higher being was up there for that. Pulling against the constricting snakes, he cursed under his breath when they didn't give any. But then his eyes were drawn to the knife held in Voldemort's bony hands; the red glow was definitely not good. When the hood was drawn away, he forced himself to hold still, but as hot blade was placed against his cheek he gave a scream of pain. Turning his head away, the smell of burning flesh filled his nose, and his arms came down protectively.

Grinning, Voldemort placed the blade away. He then looked down to Draco's arms, rolling up the long sleeve of his right one and placing the blade down onto the pale flesh for mere moments, smirking sadistically. While he did this, he then punched Draco in the chest, following up with a punch in the face, particularly in the nose. Then he brought the knife to his neck, once again not enough to leave a large burn mark, just enough to cause a burning smell and feel.

"No, nae! Please stop… Please… Don't do this to him… Don't hurt him anymore… Please, my lord… Please…" Dedra pleaded, her soft cries turning a bit louder when he punched him. Tugging against her own binds, she tried to get to her feet and walk over to him, make Voldemort stop. She didn't want to watch Draco be hurt.

As the sleeve was rolling up his arm, the cool air was followed by the burning feeling again. Draco started to scream, but ended up gasping when the punch on his chest knocked the wind from his chest again. His arms came down to his chest, raspy wheezy breaths slowly coming in and out. Somehow he found his voice as the sensitive skin of his neck was burnt. In the back of his mind, he heard Dedra's voice crying out, but he didn't know why.

Voldemort ignored Dedra's cries and pleas completely; they never did have much effect on him, even if perhaps more than other's had. Neglecting the knife, he dropped it to the ground, so that the hilt landed on and crushed Draco's foot. He then extended his arm towards the table a good ways away from Dedra, another object flowing into his hand. This item didn't burn; however, it was simply laced with nails and blades. Regarding Draco with another demon-like grin, he picked up the other arm and drove the blades and nails directly into his arm, waiting anxiously for cries of pain.

Finding a way to get to her feet, she didn't think about whether it was a good idea or not to try and go after Voldemort, but soon found it really wasn't. The snakes merely constricted around her more tightly, almost cutting off circulation. It was no surprise, this had been done to her before, only this time was wise enough to sit down and be quiet, not being brought to the point of passing out. Seeing what was done to his arm, however, caused her to scream again and try to get up. "NO! No! Stop it! Stop hurting him! Please, just stop it..."

After the knife's heavy hilt landed on his foot the pain stopped briefly and he understood her cries, they were for him. Closing his eyes for a moment, he was glad that she wasn't being harmed, being in the condition she was. The burned bits of flesh pulsed with pain, throbbing gently. When her cries stopped, Draco was relived, he didn't want to hear her pleads for him, the tone of voice she took. "Why....why are you doing this to me? To us?" Draco asked softly between pants. But then he couldn't speak because his arm was being torn up by the vicious tool. Screaming as the blood flowed down his forearm, he yanked his arm away harshly, almost falling over.

Voldemort then kneeled, surprisingly, regarding each other Draco's legs for a moment, looking for the weakest and currently most shaken. He decided not to humor either of them with an answer, quite frankly sick of Dedra's cries. "Miss Sinnott, unless you want your vocal box sliced out, you'll shut the hell up. Mr. Malfoy, you'd do well to do the same." Once again, the device was crammed against his leg mercilessly.

"Dedra....please, don't..." Draco's voice was swallowed by a hissing scream that he tried not to do. His eyes had been focused on her when the Dark Lord kneeled, but he turned away closing his eyes and facing the wall to his left. She didn't need to see his face filled with pain, he felt so weak screaming in front of her. The pain was intense and he fell to his knees, unable to hold himself up, which drew the odd tool up his leg and torn it open. It also put him face to face with Lord Voldemort.

"Are you that arrogant, young Malfoy? You cannot bear the thought of being broken down into helpless, pained cries in front of your love? So much to learn, so very fragile... almost innocent. But you aren't innocent by a long stretch, are you Malfoy? You even converted someone to your evil ways, didn't you? You even robbed someone of their innocence. Don't you feel guilty about that, young Malfoy?" he whispered teasingly, slowly removing the device from his leg as he looked at him coldly, hearing Dedra scream even more when he fell.

Head bowed softly, his hair fell around his face, and his body shook with the shuddering breaths he took. Her screams echoed on the walls, but his mind was focused on the voice slithering into his ear. Raising his chin slightly, he looked up at him when he mentioned the word 'guilty.' Draco felt guilty, yes, but not for the reasons he stated. "No, I'm not innocent, but I'm far from evil, unlike you..."

"So bold, so bold. If I am so evil, and you so not, why is it that you feel so guilty, Draco? Do share. The longer I am interested in your answer, the less pain you experience," he said coldly, roughly, and yet earnestly. Dedra's cries stopped at this, as she was thankful for a pause in his pain. "Do speak."

Suddenly his muscles twitched and he gritted his teeth in pain, grunting a little. "One can feel guilty without being evil, it happens all the time." Looking to Dedra who's cries were silences, he looked to Lord Voldemort again, "I feel it is my fault that she has became a Death Eater, that she sits there crying about me when she should worry about herself." Taking a deep breath, he lowered his eyes for a moment, staring at his damaged leg, wondering how bad it really was.

"Well, come to think of it, part of the reason she is a Death Eater at this age is because of you, but if it is any comfort her family would have required her to become one eventually anyway. And that's right, she's the one carrying a child and because you're such a weak, pathetic little creature, she's crying for you. It's so tragic... Can you not be stronger for her?" he taunted, snickering.

Dedra fought with her mind and heart not to speak on Draco's behalf, talk back to Voldemort, and tell him just how strong Draco was. She hated Voldemort degrading him like this; she would hate anyone doing it. Clenching her fists, her eyes narrowed at his back as his harsh words were quietly stated to Draco.

Glaring at him, he wished he could remove those fucking snakes. At the last question he asked, the words echoed in his mind. Those words...weak...pathetic. Words his father used and it hit him hard, bringing back childhood memories. Stronger...why wasn't he? He felt weak, bound in front of the Dark Lord, screaming in pain in front of her. His eyes flicked up to her, but not long enough that she could really see anything.

"Don't glare at me, won't have your eyes much longer," Voldemort hissed, swallowing before continuing to whisper cruel words in his ear. "Tell me how you intend on taking care of her and a little when you can't take of her alone? Does she really need to be burdened with another weakling? Something even weaker than you. And it won't even be fully human, it won't be a pureblood, Draco. It'll be frowned upon. Your father will want his own flesh and blood not omitted to your school. How will it feel, Draco?"

With much regret, Draco dropped his eyes to the wounded leg beneath him. "My child...our child will not be a weakling." He almost growled, "And if I was worried about my children being pureblood, I wouldn't have been with her in the first place." Lucius was brought up again and he took a moment before responding, "It isn't of his concern where my child goes. My...my father will disown me for being with her anyways..."

"And this doesn't bother you at all, Draco? To know your whole fortune will not be shared with her at all? How do you plan on supporting her financially, either? Because goodness knows, judging by your current state, you'll fail in supporting her emotionally and every other way thinkable."

"Money does not buy happiness...I'll manage on my own" Draco stated, but he could not find a reply for the second part. He knew he was failing her right now, but he refused to let it show how he felt. "I'm keeping you entertained, aren't I, my lord? I'm keeping you from hurting me right now, that's not failing her, is it?"

"In showing pain at all when you are hurt you display your weakness and your pathetic, failure like tendencies," he hissed in response, also dropping this tool on the floor, purposefully missing his foot. Thinking of what method to use next, he glanced over to his table. Oh, what to do...

"But...I do not beg, do I?" Draco stated, looking up to Voldemort's face once more. "I'm not begging for mercy, which is why she does it for me. My dignity and strength do not allow it..." Looking at the table, his body tightened at the morbid tools that lie on it.

"Dignity, strength? I'll rid you of what little bit you have left before this is over." Decided to walk over the table, to give him something to do, he got up and stood fully, looking down at Draco pompously. "Any other ego-stroking you feel like doing? Going to still try and show off for your girlfriend?"

Instead of verbally answering, he shook his head a bit, getting some of his hair out of his face. He found the kneeling position to be irritating and he struggled to stand again, grunting in pain as his torn leg protested. Draco leaned against the wall for support and wanted to look over to Dedra for help, but couldn't do it. Looking over there pleadingly would just make it worse, so he raised his head up to the ceiling, closing his eyes. That was also to keep him from seeing whatever tool Lord Voldemort brought back, he'd rather not know before hand.


	3. Chapter 3 Saving and Begging

"I didn't think so," Voldemort smirked, his reply plain and conceited. "Can't even look at her, can you, you weakling?" the cruel Lord teased, looking over his table pensively. He then retrieved a purple bottle, a double-edged blade, something that resembled a sort of powder, and walked over to Draco once more. "I really should make you more used to this, since you're so weak and all. I should perhaps even be more creative... But alas, here I am, taking pity on you..." Nearing Draco once again, he was all the more amused to see he couldn't stand. He then placed some of the powder in the palm of his hand, and then placed it to Draco's leg wounds, expecting quite an interesting reaction of many outbreaks of screams and cries of pain. The powder itself did not harm uncut skin, but once inside, it attacked all feeling cells lining the wound.

Soft, jade eyes observed the fallen victim as he struggled to try and get to his feet; she leaned forward in the chair before falling back as he leaned onto the wall. Dedra once again tried to fight her bonds, her eyes beginning to become watery and wet, threatening teardrops. Watching him close his eyes, she soon followed suit, not watching Voldemort bring over the powder, and wanting to shut her ears so she couldn't hear the reaction to it. As her eyes were shut, tears were forced out, streaming down her face silently.

"I choose not to...she doesn't need to see my face in pain..." Draco ground out painfully. Pity? If this is pity than I can't wait to see your wrath. He thought sarcastically, swallowing hard. In truth he was worried about what would come next, what Lord Voldemort would think up. Draco smelled the power on the air far before it hit his leg and, for a moment, he thought nothing was happening. But then there was a burning sensation that started low and dull. In grew in intensity and he began to groan under his breath in pain. Then the pain came ten fold and he cried out lowly, his leg becoming weak and he nearly fell again.

He then pulled out the double edge blade, surveying Draco as he pondered what he felt like doing next. Grinning, he then fumbled with Draco's robes until his shirt was exposed, and then used the blade to remove most of it. With that, he immediately began cutting two inch wide, half an inch deep cuts along his chest. So soon as he started he snapped his fingers and pointed to Dedra's chair, chains suddenly uprooting from it and pinning her to the chair as the snakes ceased their hold upon her and slithered back over to Voldemort.

Draco felt the cool air on his front and he looked down to see that the majority of his shirt was gone. When he saw the sharp blade come down on his chest, he wished he hadn't looked. While he couldn't separate his arms or legs, Draco felt stupid to not do something to protect himself and he drew his arms down to cover his exposed chest. As the blade made it biting cuts, he gave moans of pain. The cuts were not nearly as bad as the first wounds he'd received. When Lord Voldemort turned to chain Dedra to the chair, he knocked the blade from his hand, the metal echoing as it hit the floor.

So I haven't rendered him free of bravery. We'll see how he reacts to this. Shrugging his broad shoulders plainly, Voldemort looked to Draco as though stating, "Very well, if you insist," and then went to pick up the blade, proceeding to walk over to Dedra. Watching with a smirk as she flinched and squirmed helplessly against the bonds of the chains, he casually ran the sharpest part of the two blades up and down her arm, though not yet cutting. The blade was then glazed over her chest and stomach, pointedly looking at Draco as he did so, threatening him.

The shrug of Lord Voldemort's shoulders seemed odd to Draco, he figured that the Dark Lord would be utterly pissed. Watching as he picked up the blade and walked back to the table, he suddenly turned to Dedra. She started fighting the bond, frightened to death of what would come. "No! Don't harm her! Please leave her alone, my lord!" Draco shouted, scared for her safety. Struggling against the bonds hard, the blood flowed down his chest faster.

A cruel grin upon his countenance, Voldemort moved the blade back to her arm, giving it a quick slice, but stopping. "Not begging, are you Draco?" he inquired, feigning shock. "I thought she did your begging for you?" Laughing, Voldemort simply turned and flicked the blade in a quick throw, sending it into Draco's upper arm, intending on wedging it in deep.

Crying out softly as she was sliced, she tried to recoil her hand and arm, whimpering quietly and feebly. Watching the Dark Lord spin around and suddenly fling the blade in Draco's direction, her eyes widened in terror as he sent it into his arm, more tears racing down her face. Why was he hurting Draco, anyway? What had he done?

"I do not beg for myself. I plead for her safety and our child's safety, not my own..." Draco stated, angered by his statements. The cruel laughter that filled his ears made him shudder violently, it slide down his spine like snot. "Stop!" He yelled as the single cut was made on her arm, but his anger turned to surprise as the blade came flying toward him. "Oh shit!" he stated through clenched jaws as the blade almost went through his arm. Fortunately it didn't penetrate his chest, since his arms were in front of his chest.

"You see, Draco, talking back to me isn't truly wise. It only gets people hurt. And who knows, it may not be only you that ends up hurting." Voldemort was aware Draco knew he was referring to Dedra, so he didn't feel the need to elaborate. Neglecting Dedra for the time being, he strolled over to Draco lackadaisically once again, the purple bottle still in hand. This time he popped off the top of it, revealing some sort of salt or acid-looking concoction, throwing it onto the open chest wounds and his arm. After this, he once again awaited expression of torture, jerking out the blade awkwardly, looking at Draco for the first time and realizing just how bloodied up he was becoming.

"No, please! Stop it! Don't do that to him! Please, no more!" Dedra screamed out frantically, causing her arms to be rubbed red with resistance and struggle against the chains and chair. "Please… No more, no more…" he voice trailed off as she was soon crying hysterically, unable to really speak properly or audibly. Her eyes gradually became more and more red, and even more saturated with tears.

Flashing his eyes between the Dark Lord and Dedra, he nodded solemnly, understanding the name of the game. As long as he was a good little whipping boy, she wouldn't be harmed, at least for the most part. Draco struggled against himself to not fight back, he couldn't. If he tried to fight back or talk smartly, Lord Voldemort would just hurt her instead. Not knowing what was in the purple color bottle, he waited for it to splash on his flesh, like he thought it would. When it did, the pain was horrible, burning his entire chest and he shouted wordlessly. Frantically, he used his arms and hands to try to wipe off the substance, trying to remove it from his wounds. Vaguely, he heard her cries too and it made it worse to hear them.

Simply listening to both of their screams in silence for the longest time, he once again began to plan his next move. Should he continue with this? Or should he think of something else horrid to bring about to Draco? Yes, something else, something else, but what? More things, yes. Not just one. Making his wand visible once again, Voldemort lazily chucked the double-bladed knife elsewhere, eyeing Draco and continuing to listen to both cries. "What to do..."

The burning continued and eventually the majority of the pain subsided, although it did not disappear. Instead, it lowered to a throbbing ache over the surface of his chest. His screams turned into dry coughing, grunting with the effort it took for each breath. With his screams ending all he heard was hers, her yells of pleads for his suffering to stop, her sobs of anguish for him. "Don't cry over me...Dedra...I can't bear it...." Draco groaned to her, leaning his cheek against the cool stone.

Voldemort had only just begun his experimenting with Draco's pain tolerance, not yet satisfied with the level of pain Draco was experiencing. He could still talk to her, still acknowledge her. Yes, much, much more would be required still. Holding his wand firmly in the hand that did not bear the bottle, he set the bottle down next to the other fallen devices, muttering "Crucio," plainly before glancing over his shoulder to Dedra, snickering. She thought he was in pain before? Ha.

Dedra knew something awful was coming when Voldemort pulled out his wand; she knew first hand. Her eyes widened even more, shocked and horrified, screaming and sobbing at the top of her lungs as she almost succeeded in trying to lift the heavy chair from the ground before falling back. "NO! STOP IT!" Her throat began to ache from screaming so loudly for so long, but it didn't matter. It was just a part of the vicious cycle of agony until Voldemort stopped his cruel acts. Dedra's vision became blurred by tears, she unable to wipe them away, and almost having no mind to. If she did so, she could more clearly see what was happening.

Draco didn't see the Dark Lord pull out his wand, he was too focused on removing the burning substance from his body without spilling into his leg wound. But Dedra's sudden screams alerted him to the danger and he looked up just in time to see Voldemort's lips form the curse's words. In the back of Draco's mind, he thought, At least it's something I'm familiar with... right as the spell hit him. His father used Crucio on him as a child, when he wasn't minding well. Not for very long at first, just a brief taste. But the subsequent times were longer, more painful. So, Draco had an advantage here, he was fairly use to Crucio. At first, he remained standing, his body clenching as the pain ripped through him.

Unamused by this, Voldemort ceased the curse and sighed. This was becoming boring. How was it the other things he had done caused more pain than a spell that was to leave you twitching on the floor? Figuring he'd give himself time to think about the future and other methods, he lazily waved his wand and the snakes immediately ceased their constricting grip around him, probably causing him to fall the floor with relief and lack of support they'd partly provided.

Breathing heavily and sparsely, Dedra observed hopefully as the snakes released Draco from their hold, sniffing occasionally, and blinking tears out of her eyes. What was Voldemort doing? Hopefully not something worse, hopefully now he'd let Draco go, perhaps let them both go.

Panting as the spell ended, he fell forward with his connected hands, being on his hands and knees now. Draco smirked to himself with the knowledge that he'd put a kink in Lord Voldemort's plans, however small. He expected something worse to come now, figuring that the Dark Lord would somewhat irritated how easily Draco took the spell. Inwardly, he knew his father didn't mean for him to become use to the spell, but he had. What he didn't expect was the snakes that had been so tightly wrapped around his wrist to disappear. Sitting back on his heel, then rising, he rubbed the raw skin around them. He found himself angry at the small shaking in his hands, fisting them at his sides.

"You're dismissed for now," Voldemort stated plainly, unemotionally. Perhaps Draco would be a bit more challenging than he thought he would, even if not much. Waving his hand, he shooed Draco from the room, insisting that he leave the underground area at once.


	4. Chapter 4 Pleads and Exchange

Looking up at the Dark Lord, first, he couldn't believe he being dismissed. Then, he realized that while he was free to go, Dedra was still chained to the chair. Drawing the shirt over his wounded chest, he took a few deep breaths. Standing his ground, he asked, "What about her?" After all, the Dark Lord had given him permission to ask questions freely and had not taken that away yet, why not here.

"Get out," he hissed, narrowing his snake-like eyes at the young Death Eater threateningly. Though Draco hadn't been easily harmed or hurt, Voldemort hadn't really exercised any of his full torture capability. "Be gone, right now." It was clear now, if it hadn't been before, that Draco's permission to ask questions was currently void.

The last time Voldemort told him to leave, he had done so and now regretted it. Dedra had been hurt further because of his fear of what would come, he would not do that again. "I will not leave here again. My lord, if she stays, then I will too." He stated firmly, not letting any sign of weakness in his voice. Looking back to Dedra for a moment, he barely caught her eyes before looking back to the Dark Lord.

"You dare to defy me?" he inquired, shocked, and yet taken aback that Draco dared not to follow his orders. "Well, if you stay, I'm afraid that just wouldn't please me, wouldn't do at all." With that he made a dash for the table cheerfully, looking to Dedra's caged arm sadistically before picking up something covered in a sort of acidic, flesh-devouring slime and placing the sharp object over her arm, slowly beginning to lower it onto her skin once he reached her chair again.

Startled when Voldemort began examining her hand, she resumed bucking and tugging at the chains that held her to the black leather chair, whimpering and starting to cry again, afraid of what was to come. Then, when he held the horrid, painful-looking device over her arm, she began to scream, recognizing it.

"NO!" He cried, hearing her screams of pure terror he dashed across the room, placing himself beside the chair. "Please my lord, please don't hurt her..." Draco stood beside her, his hand covering the other that Lord Voldemort wasn't focused on. His hand shook over hers as he held it gently, his blood running down his arm. Thinking frantically, he suddenly blurted, "I'll do whatever pleases you, if no harm comes to her. Anything you wish! Just as long as she feels no pain, I'll do it."

"No thank you, Draco," Voldemort replied simply, continuing to lower it near her skin at a blood-chillingly suspenseful, slow speed. "I'm not interested," he added, yawning casually and smacking Draco's hand away from Dedra's. "Be gone, Draco, for the last time."

Not ceasing her whimpering but indeed stopping her screaming, Dedra watched Voldemort fearfully, intently, until Draco's hand was over hers, blood from his arm beginning to flow down it. Once again horrified by the blood on his arm, she closed her eyes, not wanting to see what Voldemort was going to do to her nor what Draco currently looked like.

"My lord...please..." Draco was at a lost, not quite sure what to say. All he knew was he couldn't let that -thing- touch her skin. He couldn't let it touch her.... "My lord, please, torture me instead...use that on my flesh. Surely you know how she'll react, wouldn't you rather hear new screams?" Draco pleaded, not exactly sure what he was getting himself into. "I would not resist you, fight you like I did before...please, my lord... I beg you..." Slowly he knelt in front of the Dark Lord, his head bowed slightly.

Intrigued, cold eyes looked Draco over, firstly as though to see if he was being serious, and then with another thought. "Very well," he smirked, moving it away from her arm and eyeing him, as though decided exactly where and in what manner he wanted to inflict pain on Draco next. "You do realize she'll be required to watch, correct?"

"No, Draco, don't…" Dedra sobbed helplessly, parts of her words caught in her throat as she struggled to speak and breathe normally. "No, M'lord, please, don't listen, don't hurt him, please…" she attempted to contradict, her tired, anguished pleas probably not enough to prevent future events.

Looking up to her, he gave her a weak smile, one that could be reminded of the tragic hero's smile before he dies. Standing, limping on his unhurt leg, he nuzzled his unburned cheek to hers, whispering, "Dedra...I love you..." to her pleading and begging is all he said. While he wanted to explain how much he loved her, because of that he could not possibly allow Voldemort to hurt her or their child, it didn't seem to be the right time or place. Hearing the Dark Lord consent to his giving of his body for torture, he flinched at the last question, "Yes...my lord....I understand..." He ground out, swallowing hard in his pauses. "As long as you promise to not harm her, I agree."

The added bit at the end of his agreement put a kink in the Dark Lord's plans. He had wanted to torture her when he became bored, but that little sentence would ruin that entirely. Sighing, he responded, "And you think that I will keep my promise? I could simply restrain you and do whatever I wish…but considering her state…" He made a point of looking down to her stomach at this. "I believe it would unwise of me to harm her. But understand this, any type of fighting on your part and I will harm her, do you understand?"

Draco nodded slowly, unable to speak. What had he gotten himself into… He just begged the Dark Lord to torture him and agreed to not fight him! But he did not care for his safety right now, it was hers that drove him to do such self-sacrificing things. His love for her went much further than his self worth and he would anything to keep harm from coming to her.

"Superb," the Dark Lord answered plainly, a mild grin on his face. This would truly be delicious. He was used to begging for mercy, but begging to be tortured? Not even his most masochistic of Death Eaters requested it in such an insistent, pleading manner. Mainly because no matter how masochist you were, Voldemort could very well make it so that pain did hurt, and you didn't enjoy it. Flicking his free hand towards Draco, the youthful Death Eater was consequently thrown against the wall, and immediately shackled to it.

Waiting for the subsequent pain to arrive, he did not like the particular smirk on his face. It just wasn't a good sign when you knew pain was to come and he was smiling. But the waiting wasn't long as his hand was ripped away from her and he flew back against the stone wall. It was hard and immovable and knocked the wind out of him again. Coughing a bit, he struggling to breath as his lungs fought to work. Next came the shackles and attached him to the wall, tugging lightly, he found them just as unyielding as the cold wall behind him.

"Here is a hint, Draco. I'm not going to hurt you the most when you expect it the most," the Dark Lord commented offhandedly, beginning to ignore Draco's presence upon the wall as he strolled casually over to his black table and his assortment of torture tools. He decided he would save painful spells and potions for last, and would use enchanted instruments for now. They would suffice, and Draco wasn't half used to them, in contrast to his reaction to the Crucio spell.


	5. Chapter 5 Torture Begins

Having nothing to say in response, Draco could only stand there bleeding as he waited for whatever Voldemort thought up next. Glancing at the table which the Dark Lord stood in front of, he forced himself to look away. He couldn't just stand there focused on what type of pain each item would bring. Actually, he didn't know what the majority of them did, so he just guessed and had a feeling that the pain would be worse than what he imagined. Glancing back to Dedra, he wanted to go and comfort her, tell her that everything would turn out alright. Tugging meekly at the restraints, he growled at their unyielding grip.

Trying to nuzzle against Draco in return, Dedra found her bounds quite constraining, she went to protest what was happening, but Voldemort thought ahead and fully prevented her even returning Draco's love. Watching wide-eyed as Voldemort walked over to the table bearing his various instruments, her eyes already filled with tears, knowing what was to come. She didn't want to watch, and most importantly she didn't want for this to be happening. Why did Draco have to do that? Anything Voldemort would have done to her wouldn't be so bad as he was about to do to Draco.

"Hmmm, what to do." Picking up a bottle filled with simply vinegar and another black substance, he casually strolled over to Draco, leeringly grinning as he eyed the helpless, bleeding individual. Pausing before he fully reached him, he spun on his heel and turned back around pensively. "Oh! I've another idea," he beamed, bouncing back over to the table in a skipping-like stride and picking up a two sided prong. Once again maneuvering over to Draco, he held both the heretic fork and the clear bottle.

Promptly lifting Draco's chin, he placed the device between his chin and chest, making it so that he could not talk without experiencing extreme pain while it was in place. Then, he forced his mouth a little bit open, so that he wasn't experiencing too much pain from the heretic fork, but with a little more pressure he'd be ready to scream. Taking his free hand and lifting it over Draco's head, he smirked, almost giggled as he pinched his nostrils shut, and then poured the vinegar-like substance down his throat. Though it appeared much like and smelled exactly like vinegar, it was much worse, and soon began to intensify in the sting that rang down Draco's throat, esophagus, and all the way down to his stomach.

Not wanting to anger the Dark Lord, Draco lifted his head compliantly, looking past the Dark Lord at Dedra, wondering if she had any idea what the device in Voldemort's hands did. The tool looked old, like something from the middle ages. While Draco knew a bit about medieval torture, it was unfamiliar to him. Feeling it tighten around his neck, he was half curious and half afraid of what it would do. Not having much time to think about it, his wrinkled his nose at the bitter smell of the liquid, then it was pinched shut and he couldn't do so. With no other choice, Draco quickly swallowed the nasty liquid and soon after regretted it. At first it burned like a whiskey or bourbon, but the burning increased as each second went by.

After a minute passed by and the burning increased to being painful, he gave a low groan. But the groan increased loudly as the thing around his neck suddenly gave him another wave of pain. Confused, Draco resisted the urge to make noise and the pain from the thing stopped. Testing his theory, he made a small sound in the back of his throat and the pain came back. So, this thing hurts me every time I make a sound...so when I'm in pain from something else and I cry out... it'll hurt me... Wonderful... Draco thought sarcastically. The burning doubled and it felt like a fire within him, even though he wanted to remain silent, he couldn't. Another louder moan came forth and the tool hurt him even further.

Opening her mouth to scream something, she found once again her voice was gone. Silent tears slowly treaded a path down each of her pale cheeks, soon falling upon her skirt and lap. The worst part about being unable to speak was that even a bargain could be made with Voldemort, she couldn't voice it without a voice… And so Voldemort wouldn't know about it, wouldn't be persuaded, and this would continue. Which it was going to, only it was going to worsen, and she knew it. She recognized every instrument on the table, remembered all of their disheartening terrors.

Tiring of this easily, he decided burning his insides wasn't too very satisfying, though Draco's realization of his inability to cry out was. Extending his hand, Voldemort summoned something else to him; repealing the clear bottle and watching it float back over to the black surface of the table. Catching the wooden wedge and eyeing Draco's feet interestedly, he brought his free hand to his chin after releasing Draco's nose. Kneeling in front of Draco, uncharacteristically, he very slowly began unlacing the black leather shoes upon his feet, and consequently forced him to lift each foot as he removed the socks and shoes. Rising to his full height once more, he studied his feet again, gripping the wooden wedge thoughtfully. Outstretching his hand once again, though this time more lazily, he called his wand into one hand, the one holding the wedge and held them both, and then another bottle, a purple one.

Popping the top off of the purple bottle, a icky, green, slimy substance was poured onto the wooden wedge upon the tilting of the bottle, a small drop of the slim hitting the floor and sizzling as though it was boiling hot water. "Are you scared, Draco?" he inquired cruelly, smirking maliciously. "Oh, that's right! You can't really talk, can you?" he taunted childishly, cackling devilishly as Draco didn't respond. Tossing the empty bottle behind him, it hit the wall and spattered all over, little glass pieces littering that portion of the floor. Lifting his wand, he muttered "performerious" and the wooden wedge suddenly began stabbing at the skin of Draco's feet, periodically switching feet. The slimy substance would feel like fire to the skin, and once inside torn skin, would feel even worse, as though it was eating away at his flesh.

Rubbing her ankles and wrists almost raw with her resisting and fighting against the unforgiving chains, Dedra's tears raced from her emerald eyes progressively quicker, her face once again reddening and becoming unnaturally moist from the flooding produced by her tears. What would it take to make Voldemort stop? Why was he doing this? Draco had done nothing to him at all.

The wedge didn't look all that inviting and Draco was left wondering where the hell he'd put it. The only thing that frightened him more was the wand called into the Dark Lord's hands, and then the purple tinted bottle. The green substance inside stunk horribly, but when a drop of the slime hit the floor and literally hissed... Now he was really worried. Fighting the groans that came readily from his throat, caused by the vinegar, the few the slipped out intensified, then died away as the pain from the heretic came and he forced himself to stop. When Voldemort asked his question, he reminded himself not to glare in response. That would be a bad move. Wincing as the little bottle exploded against the wall, he looked and saw Dedra unharmed by it, thank Merlin.

For some reason, Draco was glad Lord Voldemort had silenced her, it saved him from hearing her cries. But it also saved her from begging for him to stop, from calling attention to herself, and he was grateful for that. His mind was drawn back to his bare feet and suddenly knew what the wedge would do. As the wooden thing drove itself into his foot Draco cried out in pain and then cried out even louder when the heretic gave him further pain. His toes curled and his foot moved away, but the wedge always found its mark no matter what.

Ignoring the pain Draco was experiencing and whatever cries he let out, Voldemort eyed the table once again, deciding upon his next method. Ah, yes. Calling over a scissor-type instrument, he held it loosely as his other hand, that also held his wand, lift Draco's chin up a little bit again and removed the heretic fork lazily. Flicking his wrist towards Draco's mouth again, the spell forced it to remain open as the rusty yet horridly sharp instrument was brought into his mouth and began cutting up the sides and front of his tongue, only for Draco to discover there had been salt on the instrument, and the exposed wounds would soon sting with the realization of the sodium substance.

Slightly relieved that the heretic fork was removed, Draco tried to close his mouth, but the spell prevented it entirely. Closing his eyes tightly, he screamed as the sharp tool sliced his tongue repeatedly. After the cuts were made, the salt upon the scissors stinging sharply with each slice. Screaming in pain as the blood flowed over his tongue and out of his mouth.

Hearing him scream in agony, her eyes were almost to the point of not being able to rid themselves of the outbreak of tears and soon she was blinded completely by her own tears. Looking away, she forced herself not to watch it anymore, she couldn't. It didn't matter how the chain around her neck dug into it as she turned, she wouldn't observe Voldemort hurting Draco anymore.


	6. Chapter 6 End and Releasing

The wedge continued damaging Draco's feet by stabbing them for a time, but eventually began diving beneath his toenails and almost prying them from his feet in turn, but never fully bringing the nails off. Throwing the scissor-like contraption he'd been slicing Draco's tongue with to the stone floor, he called over yet another instrument, a sprinkler. Not the sprinkler that would usually come to mind, but something filled with metal. Upon reaching Voldemort's hand, the metal inside of the mesh-like drain object began to melt, and soon crawled out through the little holes. Pulling Draco's tattered shirt up high above his stomach, he placed it to his chest and let the scorching-hot metal trail down the soft skin slowly, while the wooden wedge continued doing its work.

The pain was leaning toward unbearable and Draco was screaming so loudly he knew he'd have no voice soon. The wedge stopped its impaling of his feet, but only went to slide in between his toes and toenails. The sensation of his toenails being ripped out at the root was nothing like his feet had ever felt before. The blood dripped off his feet, both from the stab wounds and from the torn out nails, to puddle around them. Soon the next method of torture came in the form of liquid metal flowing down his chest and stomach. Trying to evade the scorching metal, there was little space for him to move. The cuffs kept him from going side-to-side, the wall stopped him from moving backwards, and the Dark Lord in front of him didn't let him move forward. There was no place to run.

When Voldemort finally became satisfied with the level of pain and the loudness of Draco's pained screaming, he ceased the flow of the molten metals, smirking slightly as he pulled away the device and set it down, carefully. With a waving motion of his hands, the wooden wedge ceased digging beneath his toenails and fell to the floor lifelessly. "Are you still so confident, Malfoy? Still believe it was wise of you to take her place?" he teased, looking over the pale but soon turning a blood red boy amusedly. Averting his eyes back over to the wooden surface that bore other tools, he turned his back to Draco pointedly and began walking back towards it, purposefully slowly.

Picking up another rusty mechanism, he surveyed it thoughtfully for a moment before also picking up a bottle, shaking his head and setting it down. Setting for the compressive device he held, he studied the table once more. Wait! The branks. Picking up a mask made of metal, he grinned recalling Draco's inability to scream, and when he tried, it would hurt worse. Almost skipping back over to his victim, he shoved the mask over his head, and forced the spiked mouthpiece into his mouth. He'd be unable to talk once more, if he had half a mind to not be in pain.

When the tools of torture causing his pain stopped for a moment, Draco panted loudly, deep shuddering breaths in and out of his lungs. He was beginning to feel dizzy from the amount of blood flowing off of his body and from the lack of oxygen due to his screaming. "Yes..." Draco answered softly, his head dropped, too lazy to hold it up anymore. In an offhanded way, he notice that his chest wounds had been cauterized from the liquid metal. His arm and leg had clotted, stemming the flow of blood there. But, his foot and tongue still bleed viciously. He was somewhat glad for the slow walk the Dark Lord took; it gave him a moment to breath. Watching as two more medieval tools of torture were brought over.

The first, a mask was placed over his head and was rather heavy. But the worst part by far was the spiked mouthpiece shoved inside his mouth, pressing against his already bleeding tongue. It was obviously to keep him from talking again, not like he was doing much talking to start with.

Voldemort took the second tool and unceremoniously placing the object over Draco's thumb, after of course spreading out his hand on the wall. Positioning the device so that he could smack Draco's thumb joint and still keep his hand against the wall. Tightening the turner until the screw was driven into Draco's thumb joint; he waited for expression of pain before simply leaving it at that for a while, and then digging it further.

The second object slipped over his finger like a metal glove and figured it would probably break his finger. As the Dark Lord meticulously placed the item and then began tightening it, it slipped in the joint of his thumb, spreading it apart. As the screw drove deeper into his thumb, Draco gave a muffled scream, his tongue further sliced by the awful mouthpiece. The joint popped sickeningly as it separated, the muscles in his hand twitching in pain. Looking through the small opening in the mask, he could see Dedra across the room, looking away decidedly. Knowing he'd failed her with his cries of agony, he felt like he shouldn't look at her, that he was unworthy of looking at her, so he stopped. Instead, he stared at the fogged up metal inside the mask from the humidity of his breath.

Fighting her bonds hysterically when she saw Voldemort bringing over the mask, she almost broke both of her wrists, desperate to get free. Hearing him scream some more, she continued helplessly crying, more ashamed of her own inability to help him than anything else. Why wasn't she stronger? Why couldn't she help him and prevent Voldemort from hurting him?

Slowly unscrewing the screw from inside his thumb joint, Voldemort lackadaisically removed the apparatus off of and away from his hand, tossing it to the ground along with the other torture tools, a pile beginning to grow quite rapidly. Outstretching his hand, he called another contrivance to him, summoning a short pole with a pitch fork at one end. This was a Cat's Paw, used to tear flesh from a victim's body, and so it would be used right now. Snapping his fingers, the chains that bound Draco let him loose, and he was levitated off of the ground, only to be turned around and forced to face the wall, still wearing the mask. The chains once again dove back into the wall, holding him firmly against it.

As the screw came out of his thumb, Draco had a bad feeling that the thumb would be permanently damaged. While he was glad for the thing to be off his thumb, he nearly whimpered when it fell over limply. Yup, definitely screwed up, no pun intended. Once again the bindings holding him captive were removed and he was again shocked about it. But, he should've known better as he was lifted, turned around, and replaced back on the wall. The tightness of the chains surprised him and he felt he couldn't move anymore.

Most of Draco's skin was damaged, he was definitely in pain, and he could not even look Dedra in the eye with any sort of dignity. Voldemort could take a break for a while. After, of course, he finished. Taking the short pole with a pitch fork at one end, he began to drag it lightly up and down Draco's back, not bothering to try and remove his shirt. The Cat's Paw would do that for him. Beginning to dig in deeper as he scrapped down repeatedly, bringing the tool up and then dragging it back down, just starting to expose some blood.

Silently praying for Voldemort to finish, to halt in his vicious attempts at mutation, she couldn't even watch and look to Draco anymore, horrified. Crying and shaking violently, Dedra tried not to hear any sort of screams Draco let out, not wanting to witness anymore of his pain. She couldn't take it anymore.

Unsure of the thing moving up and down his back, at first it seemed to be nothing, but things were never what they seemed when it came to Voldemort. Draco first knew the thing was not good when the cloth covering his back shredded away. When the tool began to touch his skin, the sharp blades ripped it instantly, drawing blood rather quickly. The long the tool moved up and down, the deeper it dug into his flesh, and more blood flowed to the surface. The cries started low and soft but grew in intensity each time the thing transverse the length of his back.

Digging the prongs of the Cat's Paw deeper into Draco's back, the Dark Lord only stopped when he was fairly satisfied, and Draco's back was properly mutilated. Beaming sadistically, he slowly pulled it away, walking over to Draco as he still held the Cat's Paw and his wand tightly, removing the metal mask carefully. Now he could scream freely and not experience even more pain, only now it really didn't matter. "And now you're free to go. Tata."

Trying to blink tears from her eyes, she opened them, trying to focus them on Voldemort as though decided whether or not he'd really said what she thought he said. As happy as she could be at the moment, she smiled vaguely, looking over to Draco only to be mortified, nauseated, and frantically upset.

Crying out loudly as the duel pains of the Cat's Paw being removed and his tongue being sliced by the mask, Draco tugged uselessly as the chains on the wall. His back hurt like a bitch and the air blowing against the wounds just made it all worse. When Voldemort came over to his side to talk to him, Draco flinched in response, expecting more pain to come. But he was perplexed when the mask was removed and he was allowed to leave. Tugging at the chains and cuffs, he asked, "And Dedra will leave with me? My lord?" No matter how badly he wanted to leave, he would not do so without her.

Laughing at Draco's request, Voldemort raised a brow, as though he wasn't entirely sure Draco was being serious. "You're joking, right? While I gave you my word I wouldn't torture her, she cannot go with you. You'd be wise to leave it at that." Snapping his fingers, Draco's chains gave away, and a simple tug would cause them to fall to the ground uselessly. Yawning softly, Voldemort turned his back to Draco, advancing towards Dedra non-chalantly.

Squirming against her chains again when Voldemort began to walk closer to her, Dedra suddenly became afraid once more. She desperately wanted to leave with Draco, mainly to help him get bandaged up and begin healing. And then there was the fact she knew what Voldemort wanted with her once Draco left.

When the cuffs released his wrist, he slumped slightly, rubbing the raw wrist. "Your word, my lord, was that you would not harm her, not just torture her." Draco reminded him, somehow keeping his tone very polite and respectful. Glancing over to the voiceless Dedra, he tried to give her a look to remain calm. Draco had an idea of what Voldemort wanted and he wasn't about to let that happen. "Surely whatever want you could have now would harm her, given her current state..."

"Draco. Honestly. Do you want to be killed? Never once did I promise not to kill you. Want a bastard child?" he teased, smirking to Draco from over his shoulder. "You're dismissed." Waving his hand careless and dismissingly, it was clear Voldemort would ignore all that Draco attempted to do, and Voldemort by far had the more powerful magic capabilities. Draco had few cards to play.

Wincing at the thought of being killed, Draco paused in his thoughts, but remained still. Unable to understand how he kept his tone respectful, despite what Voldemort had done, he spoke again, softly, "No, my lord, I do not wish to die. But I do wish to protect the health of my child and my girlfriend...." Remaining rooted to the spot, he refused to leave the room.

"Stay in here but a second longer and you will cease to exist. Am I being unclear about this, Draco, or are you just hard of hearing?" the Dark Lord inquired hatefully, continuing to walk over to the chair Dedra was bound to until he was right beside of it, then he turned on his heel to look back at Draco, gripping his wand tightly.

Shaking violently when Voldemort finally reached the chair, she tried to lean away from him, watching him noiselessly but not inexpressively. It was odd she was still able to remain a Death Eater, given if Voldemort came within two feet of her she trembled and whimpered.

Quickly tiring of being polite, Draco knew that one step out of line and the Dark Lord could kill them both. "My lord, I am asking you to keep to your promise, that is all. You have promised to not harm her if I compiled with your torture without resisting. I have kept my end of the bargain, do you not hold yours?" Draco inquired softly. After a moment, he asked, "Did you not please yourself with my pain? Then do some more, I know you have worse punishments than what you gave me. Take your pleasure on my flesh, instead of hers."

"Leave. Right now." Voldemort commanded sharply, glaring malevolently at him and starting to lift his wand, ready to perform a spell. Which spell it was wasn't so difficult to guess. "Unless of course you want the both of you to die, as well as your unborn child."

"Please my lord...." Draco resolved to begging, falling roughly to his knees, the raised wand frightening him. He knew very well that the Dark Lord wouldn't have a single problem with using the most deathly curse on them. Frantically looking to Dedra, he wondered what she was thinking, what would happen to her if he left. But, Draco thought reasonably, He could kill me anyways, then torture her, then kill her. The options were slim to none and there wasn't much that he could do.

Looking at Draco listlessly, she herself wasn't sure what she wanted for Draco to do. She didn't want for him to leave and wanted to help him get cleaned up and tended to, but she most certainly did not want for him to die. She was unsure of what to convey to him and tell him to do, and was even more unsure of what she wanted to chance.

"This is truly is your last chance, Draco. Leave now, or die. I won't wait. There is the exit." He gestured towards the doorway that lead to the tunnel outside. "Be gone. Leave." Voldemort clearly was giving his final warning, and this would be Draco's last chance to leave alive.

In death, Draco wouldn't be able to help Dedra afterwards or assist in raising their child. He could only pray that Voldemort would keep to his promise and not harm her, because he would pay if he did. Draco didn't know how, but he would find some way to do so. "I shall hope you keep to your promise, as did I." Draco murmured, rising to his feet painfully. Looking over to Dedra briefly, he tried to explain his thoughts, "If I am dead, I cannot help you afterwards..." Not wanting to remain any longer, he left the concrete place, albeit slowly due to his pain. Once reaching the exit, he sat down outside it, ignoring his pain while waiting.

After about an hour or two, Dedra was set free from the chair, the chains recoiling and her ability to speak returned. She was allowed to leave, and leave she did, hurrying out of the cold tunnels and towards the exit, hell-bent on reaching Draco. Smirking slightly, Voldemort thought to himself. Neither of them will forget that. Not ever. May it remain etched in their minds. 


End file.
